The Birth of a Wolverine
by impulse
Summary: My twist on Wolverine's origin. My first story, so please review. Try not to be too cruel.


The Birth of A Wolverine  
  
DISCLAIMER: I am in no way affiliated with Marvel Comics. I do not own Wolverine. Any characters appearing in the story are property of Marvel Comics.  
  
  
  
Part I: The Beginning  
  
He crouched there, taking in the scents and sights around him. He could still smell the deer that had run off upon hearing him coming. Luckily for it, the man wasn't in the hunting mood tonight. He was out here to think about life and how it just seems to keep pushing him down. That man is Logan, code named Wolverine, member of the 'mutant terrorist organization' known as the X-Men.  
  
Loan's age is unknown. Logan himself has no idea how old he is. Some speculate that he could very well be over 100 years old. In fact, that's what most believe, and with the memories that have been surfacing within Logan lately, he is starting to believe that as well. You may be wondering why he has problems remembering his past clearly. Well, there's a simple explanation for that. Well, not so simple, but an explanation nonetheless.  
  
-----  
  
Some time ago, Logan had been living as a beast in the Canadian wilderness. He had long ago been overcome by his feral nature. He had been born with senses far better than those of the average man. He could smell and hear for miles around, and had been plagued with animal urges. Logan could no longer remember exactly what had caused him to abandon civilized life for that of an animal. All he did now was hunt and roam the wilderness. For the longest time he had been living a life of solitude with no other human around for many many miles. Then, as fate would have it, a malfunction in a Canadian military jet caused it to crash not far from Logan. Logan, hearing the crash and ready to take on anyone who dared challenge his dominion, headed for the crash site. When he got there he noticed a man, bloody and crawling out of the wreckage.  
  
"Hellppp Mee," the gravely injured man croaked out.  
  
Logan with a berserk fury likely caused by the scent of fresh blood, pounced on the man, snapping his neck, and dug his six claws into the man's body. Logan picked up many other scents, however they all seemed faint, so he figured them for dead. So engrossed in his feast, he didn't hear another man breath for life and cough inside the plane. The blonde haired man looked out the window in horror and saw what looked to be a man hunched over Lt. Blair, devouring him. With what little strength he could muster, the man pulled himself to the plane's console and flipped the homing beacon switch, notifying his superiors of his location. The man then passed out from the pain of his injuries.  
  
[A few hundred miles away]  
  
"Albright! Get your keister over here right now!" Wrath bellowed.  
  
"Sir. yes sir!" Albright replied, standing at a salute facing his superior.  
  
"We have some problems. A group of our best soldiers had been flying up north to our new facilities when a mechanical error caused them to crash land deep in the Canadian wilderness. We have had no communications with them, except for the faint signal of the homing beacon. You will lead your team to the signal and search for any survivors. This is to be a standard search and rescue mission. I want no foul ups. Now move out!"  
  
[Back to the Wilderness]  
  
Logan had long since finished his meal and was now heading back to his den to rest when he heard a noise overhead, and turned around to follow it. Back at the crash site, Albright and his men had just landed in their helicopter and were beginning to survey the damages and look for survivors.  
  
"Sir, over here" cried out Boswick.  
  
"What is it, Boswick?" Albright asked.  
  
Boswick just motioned in a direction and Albright looked and saw the bloodied remains of one of the passengers.  
  
"Holy shit! Those injuries are definitely not the result of a plane crash! It almost looks as if something ate him." Albright said, still staring at the remains of the passenger, his head contorted like his neck had been broken and a gaping hole in the man's chest with entrails hanging out, and there were three slash marks in the remaining skin on the man's torso. He bent down and lifted the dog tags from the soldiers neck. The name on it was Chaveau. Shaking his head to clear the image of the poor man, Albright began walking back toward the plane wreckage.  
  
"Boswick! Bag up the remains of the man over there." Albright commanded.  
  
"Sir! We've just went into the wreckage, only one person is unaccounted for, sir. The rest are dead." stated Lt. Marso  
  
"Well, we know where the missing person is." Albright retorted. "What are you waiting for, Marso? Bag the bodies so we can get out of here." Things aren't looking too good, Albright thought. This was supposed to be a search and rescue mission, there were supposed to be survivors. It appears as though we would have had one survivor if not for whatever got to him. What is Wrath going to say about this. I'm sure somehow it'll be blamed on me. And this thing that got to Chaveau, I don't want to be around if it happens to come back.  
  
"Sir! I've found a survivor in the cockpit!" Marso hollered.  
  
Survivor? In the cockpit? That would be the least likely of places for a survivor to be found, Albright thought. He must've been the one to activate the homing beacon.  
  
Before Albright could continue in his thoughts, a loud growl was heard, and Albright turned his head to see a wild man lunging at Boswick, with what looked to be three bone claws extended from each fist. Before Albright could reach Boswick and help, the man with the claws slashed right through Boswick's neck. A second later the head fell and rolled onto the ground, a sickly looking expression frozen into the man's face.  
  
With Boswick gone, Albright was the only one left within the man's sight. Albright couldn't believe how ferocious that man was. He was downright savage. Albright did what he thought to be the most logical move. He unholstered his pistol and unloaded it into the savage man's chest, causing him to stagger and fall to the ground with a resounding thud. Albright looked toward the fallen man and could still see his chest rising and falling with life. But I just unloaded my pistol into that, that guy, Albright thought, he should be dead.  
  
Marso, having heard the gunfire quickly ran out of the airplane and to his superior's side.  
  
He spotted the dirty, hairy man on the ground.  
  
"What happened, sir?" Marso asked  
  
"This sonuvabitch just killed Boswick, lopped his head clean off. He began coming at me, so I shot him until he went down." Albright replied shakily.  
  
"Sir, umm, he appears to be moving!" Marso stated.  
  
"What are you waiting for? Finish him off."  
  
And with that, Marso pulled out his revolver, walked over to Logan and unloaded it into his chest.  
  
"There. Done. Now, sir, if you don't mind, I suggest we get back to our survivor."  
  
With that, Albright and Marso walked back over to the wreckage and climbed in. There were several body bags in the cargo area, obviously carrying the remains of the dead soldiers. Up in the cockpit, Marso and Albright grabbed hold of the survivor and carried him outside. They laid the man down on the ground, and Marso went back into the wreckage to retrieve his medikit. Albright walked back to where the decapitated corpse of Boswick lay. Staring down, he couldn't help feeling sorry for Boswick. He had a wife and a child at home. Marso returned with his medikit, and just as he was beginning to remove the man's shirt to examine him, the man did the unthinkable, and stirred.  
  
"*cough*cough*Uggghh. Where the hell am I?" the man asked  
  
"Sir, sit still please, you've been in a plane crash in the wilderness. You are the only survivor." Marso answered.  
  
"God, no wonder why I feel so horrible," the man said as he sat up.  
  
"Sir, you shouldn't be moving around. You could have some serious internal injuries." Marso said.  
  
"I'm feeling okay, just a little sore in the ribs. I'll be fine." replied the man as he stood up and stretched.  
  
"Let me check you out real quick," Marso said. After a quick examination, Marso was puzzled. Albright had just returned to Marso's side and looked just as surprised that the man was already up and moving.  
  
"When I found you, sir, you were barely alive, had serious cuts on your face, and barely hanging on. Now thirty minutes later, I cannot even tell you were injured. How?" Marso asked.  
  
The first thought Albright had was that this man was a mutant. He had been told that the Canadian military had a few within their ranks. He didn't really understand what a mutant was, but he was beginning to.  
  
"What's your name,. soldier?" Albright inquired.  
  
"Creed, Victor Creed, sir." the man replied. 


End file.
